


A Very Long Year

by irishluff



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Domestic Violence, Episode: s03e12 The Sound of Drums, Episode: s03e13 Last of the Time Lords, F/M, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishluff/pseuds/irishluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Power was a currency, a tangible thing. The only way to get more was to take it from someone else, and Lucy needed it as desperately as she needed air. Trouble was, whenever she managed to collect, he'd just take from her to add to his own dragon's den.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Month One (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a really short chapter. There'll be a few of these. Everything is fairly happy right now (for them, at least), and we all know that happiness makes for a terrible story.

The first few weeks, were wonderful. They were both drunk off the incredible power they had over the entire world, and laughed as it burned. And even when things first started to go badly, they weren’t that bad. Harry was more irritable and shouted a lot, but that was the Doctor’s fault. Soon, she knew, he would break the Doctor, and things would go back to normal. After all, he had chosen her. Of every woman on the planet, she was the one he decided to share all this with. He was well on his way to being the most powerful man in the universe, and she was his wife. And she thought it good.


	2. Month Two

He hit her.

  
She didn’t really believe it, because that’s not the type of thing that happened to her. Other women had husbands that hit them, not her. Yet there was no denying the physical evidence on her cheek- a red mark in the shape of his hand- as she stared at her reflection in the mirror with wide eyes. No. She was being silly. This was an overreaction. It had been her fault, after all. The Doctor had been making Harry upset again, and Lucy tried to talk to him about it. She shouldn’t have pushed so hard while he was already angry, she should’ve let it drop when it was clear he didn’t want to talk to her. Instead, she prodded, she tried to make him tell her what was wrong. And so, when she stood behind him, hands on his shoulders, saying what she thought were comforting words, he whirled around and smacked her across the face.  
She really needed to learn when to be quiet.

  
She was willing to put it behind her. It was never going to happen again. Until it did. Twice more that month, she angered him, so he hit her. One time was particularly bad. He’d been holding her arm uncomfortable tightly when she said something to him. It might have been to please not hold her so tightly, but she really didn’t remember. It wasn’t important, anyway. The important part was his reaction: he’d flung her into the nearest wall, hitting her head against the plaster. She saw stars and fell to the ground, vaguely aware of footsteps and the sound of the door shutting. She was very aware that she was alone, however. She was aware that he left here there, on the floor, clutching her head, for half an hour.

  
When he came back in, he seemed surprised to see her there. He approached her and commanded she get up. Shakily, she complied. He grabbed her forearms once she was up, but his touch was tender and she was at ease, even as he looked her up and down, very much in the way a plumber might examine a section of pipes for leaks. After a few wordless moments, he spoke.

  
“No symptoms of a concussion, no significant bleeding. You’re perfectly fine.” His emotionless face never changing as he told her this. “Let’s not do this again, alright? You know not to make me so angry.”

  
She did. She shouldn’t have angered him, she knew. It was her fault this happened. “I know. I’m sorry, Harry.”

  
He smiled at this. “Good girl.” Then, he pulled her into a hug, and she felt safe.


	3. Month Three

There had certainly been physical evidence before, but not a black eye. Not this. She examined her reflection with a frown. She couldn’t let someone see this. For reasons she wasn’t quite sure of, Lucy thought it important that she keep this a secret. So, she opened her rather extensive makeup kit and dug through it for the thickest concealer she owned. The bruise was dark, it would take a lot to hide it. It had to be done.

  
Unfortunately, it was slow going. The area was very tender, and prodding it with the makeup sponge wasn’t doing anything to make it feel better. About halfway through the first coat, one of the servants walked in on her.

  
“Oh, Mrs. Saxon, I didn’t think you’d be in here, I’m so sorry,” she said quickly, obviously caught off guard and a bit fearful of Lucy’s reaction. After a moment of neither woman speaking, the black eye seemed to register in the servants mind. “Did he…?” she asked cautiously. It was known that the Master had quite a few regular punching bags. The Doctor (though that actually less frequent than one might think). Jack. Whatever unfortunate servant happened to be nearest. But they’d always assumed Lucy was safe. She was his wife, after all. From the looks of it, they’d assumed wrong.

  
Suddenly, Lucy felt very uncomfortable under the girl’s gaze. She turned back to the mirror and continued spreading makeup under her eye, ignoring the slight twinges of pain that accompanied each touch. “It’s not important,” she said after a moment. “I know not to make him angry. I shouldn’t have.” She said this very matter-of-factly. It was true. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added pointedly.  
The servant looked at her with something that was almost pity. Slowly, carefully, she approached her. “It’s not your fault if he hurt you,” she said in a soft voice. “Even if you did upset him, he made the choice to hit you.”

  
There was a part of Lucy’s brain, the rational part, that believed her, which of course only made the girl’s words worse. Lucy shoved that part away, of course she wasn’t right, of course it wasn’t Harry’s fault. Why would it be, he loved her? How dare this servant come in and try to council her one her marriage? Everything was fine! She just had to stop upsetting him and everything could be perfect again. “Get out!” she shrieked. The servant, taken aback by Lucy’s sudden rage, ran out of the room.

  
It didn’t occur to Lucy for a very long time that she didn’t even know the girl’s name.

  
\--

What if the servant was right? She couldn’t be, but what if she was. For the next few days, Lucy was unable to forget her brief conversation, consumed with doubt. So, she decided to try and talk to Harry and put this stupid worry to bed once and for all. She picked a night when things had gone well for him, so he’d be in a good mood. Something like this would probably only upset him, best not to bring it up when he was already aggrivated.

  
“Harry? Can we talk?” she asked gingerly.  
“Of course, darling, whatever you want,” he said, not looking up from what he was going.  
“Now, I mean.”  
“I’m a bit busy, Lucy, can it wait?”  
She was about to tell him yes, of course it can, when she stopped herself. The black eye still hadn’t faded. She hadn’t bothered to finish concealing it, and she knew people were taking notice of it. Talking about it. Pitying her. More than anything, she hated their pity. “No, it can’t.”

  
With a sigh, he stood up and sat next to her. “Alright, I’m listening. What is it?” Lucy couldn’t help but feel a bit patronized by his tone.

  
“You… you hurt me, Harry, you have to stop,” she began, suddenly uncertain.

  
He frowned. “I thought we already discussed this.” He put an arm around her, and though she knew it was supposed to be comforting, she cringed a bit at the touch. “If you don’t upset me, I have no reason to hurt you.”

  
Lips tight, she moved away from his grip. “I know, but-“

  
“But what?” he snapped. Before she could answer, he put a light hand on her jaw and turned her to face him. “Lucy,” he began, speaking as if addressing a naughty kindergartener, “you know I love you.”

  
She spent a moment looking into his eyes, and knew without a doubt. “Yes, I just-“

  
“Good girl,” he interrupted, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “Now please, don’t waste my time.”

  
And with that, he stood up and the discussion was over.


	4. Month Four

For a short while, she tried to show him that he was hurting her. He loved her, after after all. So when he hit her, she cried and pleaded for him to stop. It didn’t work. The tears only made him more angry. “Stop with the damn tears!” he’d scream as he hit her again. “You pathetic human.” He spit out the words as if they were obscenities. To him, they probably were. She quickly learned it was best to not react at all. Just go limp and let him get bored. She went far away in her mind, back to the early days when abusive husbands were still something that only happened to other people. Though he hit her frequently now, every night when they got into bed, he still kissed her and told her he loved her, and she fell asleep in his arms to the comforting rhythm of his double heartbeat. Although she feared him during the day, at night, there was nowhere she felt safer. She figured out a long time ago that he rarely slept. While this used to scare her, the thought of him always being alert even while she was at her most vulnerable, it was now just a part of life. It meant he was always there to comfort her when the nightmares woke her up.


	5. Month Five

One day, he took her to watch while he tortured Jack. She didn’t know why he wanted her there, but he did, so she came with him. She wasn’t sure what to think of it, this man that could never die. He seemed like the perfect plaything for her husband. As sick as watching this made her feel, she took some comfort in knowing there was someone Harry hit harder than he hit her. When he was done, Lucy stayed behind. It was fascinating to watch him heal. No matter what Harry did to this impossible man, his body recovered right before her eyes. He was some sort of miracle, it seemed. Not that it was working out very well for him right now, but in other times… What a gift, to always be able to put yourself back together.

  
When he came to, Jack put on a charming smile and actually started flirting with her. Being hit on by her husband’s punching bag was not what she wanted to happen, so she told him to shut up. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. No one listened to her. She was Lucy Saxon, the Master’s wife, the wife of the most powerful man on the planet and no one listened. Why did not not listen?! She deserved to be listened to. Hadn’t she put up with enough? Sat and did nothing while her husband beat her, all out of love and some kind of twisted lust for power. Hadn’t she earned some kind of power over someone? Even the servants only listened because they had to, and they did it with a scowl on their face because they hated her, or rather, they hated her husband. Fine, let them hate her. The time for caring what the servants thought of her as a person had long since passed. They had to respect her, though. They pitied her. Of course, they never told her any of this, but she could see it in their faces. Even the servants didn’t respect her, how pathetic was she? No. Not pathetic. She’d prove she wasn’t pathetic. Before she realized what was happening, she picked a stray pipe off the floor and swung it straight into Jack’s jaw. That would shut him up, wouldn’t it? Prove she was someone to be feared, just like Harry. But it didn’t.

  
The most disturbing part was that the flirting didn’t stop until she’d knocked him unconscious. Even then, she didn’t stop swinging her pipe. She couldn’t. It was addictive, this power. In this blind rage, savagely beating the life out of the man who could never die, she understood why Harry did it. Of course, he was much more clean than this. Lucy’s mind seemed to be cracking as she hit him, screaming at no one in particular, crying every tear she’d eve held in until finally, she just stopped. Mid-swing, she dropped the pipe where it fell to the floor with a clatter. For a few long moments, she started at her handiwork. Jack was dead, there was no question about it. He probably had been for a long time, she just hadn’t noticed. They were both covered in his blood. Good, she thought. She wanted to see exactly what she had done to him. Physical evidence of her power, the power to make someone hurt and bleed and die. But even as she stared, she was terrified. This was a dangerous power, and Lucy wasn’t sure she could wield it. And while Lucy stood there, Jack was healing. Not wanting to be there when he woke up, she turned and ran, not slowing until she reached the upper deck.

  
When she entered the bedroom, she was surprised to find Harry there, tinkering with the laser screwdriver. Usually he was around the ship, menacing people or playing with the Toclafane. He was visibly surprised at her appearance. She must’ve been quite a sight to see, her hair a mess, her beautiful, expensive covered in sweat and Jack’s blood, the slightly crazed look in her eyes. It was certainly a contrast to the polished image she tried to maintain. On any other occasion, she would have smiled at Harry’s surprise and confusion. Right now, it was a small bit of power to take from him, capturing his attention so suddenly and completely. Usually, she knew, his mind was never fully there when she talked to him. He was paying attention to her now. She couldn’t bring herself to smile though. She wasn’t entirely proud of what she’d done to get that power, though she did relish the aftermath. Her face stayed blank.

  
“I just killed Jack,” she said in a monotone.

  
Harry’s surprise vanished and morphed into one of his terrifying grins. “Now that’s something I wish I could’ve seen.”

  
Now Lucy couldn’t help but return his smile. He hadn’t smiled like that in a long time, at least not because of her. When he opened his arms, she came to him gladly and he pulled her into a passionate kiss. In this moment, they were perfect again. The Master and his wife, dancing as the world burns under them, with absolute power over everyone else. For the first time in a very long time, she felt as if she shared his power.

  
Of course, this didn’t last. The next day, the Doctor angered Harry again, so he hit her, and every bit of power she’d gained was gone. Although she savored the memory of the power she had over him, Lucy never visited Jack again. Lucy Saxon was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a murderer. Or at least, she didn’t want to be.

  
The next time the Master went to Jack in the engine room, the immortal man smirked at his torturer as always. This time, though, he was the first to speak.

  
“Your wife’s a hell of an arm.”


	6. Month Six

The drums were acting up, Lucy knew. Somehow, this noise could turn him from the most powerful man on earth into a scared little boy. These drums, in Lucy’s mind, were the most powerful force in the universe if they could bring a man like the Master to his knees. Times like now, when he couldn’t do anything but sit and clutch his temples, waiting for the noise to die down enough for him to think properly. Her poor, mad husband… Quite hypocritically, she pitied him during these times. And she had to admit, knowing how much he’d resent her pity made her smile a bit. Now though, she had a power even Harry couldn’t deny.

 

She sat next to him, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. He would’ve shrunk away from anyone else, but not her. Then, in a slow, calm voice, she’d talk to him.

 

“Remember the day you took over the world? I do. It was wonderful. The rift opening and the Toclafane descending, I don’t think that’s a moment I’ll ever forget. You even had music playing. Think about that, Harry, how it felt to watch your children descend on the planet and decimate it. The Doctor thought he could stop you, but of course he couldn’t. No one could stop you, and no one ever can.” She took a moment before saying the next line, she hated using his true name… “No one can defeat the Master of all.”

 

They’d discovered this method early on. She could get him through the drums simply by talking him through it, giving him something to listen to other than the awful pounding in his head. So, she’d hold him and tell him stories until he felt better. She quickly found the best stories were ones about his own triumph. When he was so beaten down, she couldn’t blame him for wanting an ego boost. Lately, she liked to talk about things other than the past few months. It gave her as much of an escape as it did him, talking about and remembering the good times. While she reminded him of how it felt to be king of the world, she was remembering how it felt, for those few weeks, to be queen.

 

No one else could do this job. On some days, that was all that kept her going, the knowledge that she alone had the power to soften the call to war. Sure, someone else could try and distract him, but they didn’t have the intimate knowledge of what to say that would be the most effective at banishing his monsters. Besides, to her knowledge, no one else had tried and succeeded like she had. Even after the episode was over and the gratitude had faded, Lucy took comfort in knowing that there were some nights that her husband needed her as badly as she needed him.


	7. Month Seven

Her wrist was broken.

There were a lot of things wrong with Lucy right now, this was easily the worst beating she’d endured. She didn’t even know what caused it. Well, she didn’t know why it started. She knew exactly why it continued. He came into the room and hit her, she was caught off guard. The between the surprise and pain, she started crying. As usual, tears just made him madder.

“You are  _pathetic_!” he screamed. “If you’re going to cry, I’ll give you something  _real_  to cry about.”

For the first time, she was afraid for her life. Thankfully, he stopped before it reached that point. Now, she was alone, in a heap on the floor, holding her wrist and struggling not to burst into tears. Every failed attempt at moving it added more pain, something that barely seemed possible considering how badly it already hurt. It had to be broken.

Her fears were confirmed when he came back for her. He always would do this, look her over and tell her all the injuries she could have but didn’t, because he hadn’t really hit her  _that_  hard. This time, however, he assured her she was fine until he took a look at her wrist. Then he just spend a long, silent moment looking at it, stood up, and left the room.

She felt helpless. She had very vague medical knowledge, but she knew that broken bones needed to be immobilized or they could easily get worse. So, she did the best she could with what little she had, hid under the covers, and went to sleep. When she woke up, there was a rose, a bottle of water and what looked like very strong pain pills on the bedside table. She didn’t quite know how to feel about this display, but she took the pills gratefully and put the flower in water. Exactly like he wanted her to, she knew, but what did it matter? It was clear that he was trying. She appreciated that, even if she didn’t exactly appreciate the broken wrist.

She didn’t see much of Harry for the next few days, though she did collect quite the bouquet of flowers. He knew he’d gone too far, but instead of trying to make it better, he avoided her. Lucy wasn’t quite sure how to feel about this, but for now, she was just glad she was safe. For a long time, he didn’t hit her at all. Lucy thought maybe it was finally over. If a broken bone was the price to pay… Well, she was willing to accept that.


	8. Month Eight

It wasn’t over, of course. Shortly after burning Japan, he started hitting her again. Something about the power, having a great nation helpless and screaming, brought back the monster inside him. It had been glorious to watch, even Lucy had to admit. She’d always been strangely attracted to Harry like this, her destroyer of worlds. The power of it all, that’s what she loved. It really wasn’t healthy, this lust for power. Lucy didn’t care, though. She’d long since stopped caring what was healthy.

When he hit her again, though, it was worse than before. She’d been so sure it was over, his violent rage caught her by surprise. It shouldn’t have. Stupid, stupid girl, she should’ve seen it coming. Why hadn’t she seen it coming. If she’d seen it coming, she would’ve been able to avoid it better. She knew Harry well, she knew what would, to an extent, cool his rage and would would just make him madder.

She vowed never to make that mistake again.


	9. Month Nine

“Lucy?” called Harry from across the room. He was starting out the window, watching the earth burn under his power just like always. Lucy was a bit surprised he’d called to her, usually he didn’t like to be bothered while he was… doing whatever it was he did.

Still, she knew better than to ignore him. “Yes, Harry?” she asked, walking over to him.

He turned around to face her, a funny look on his face. The look passed quickly though, and Lucy wasn’t positive she hadn’t imagined it. “Why do you never use my name?” he said in a quiet, dangerous tone.

“What?” she asked, genuinely confused. He was Harry, Harry Saxon. Her Harry. Or at least, that’s who she wanted him to be. Of course she knew his true name, but she didn’t like to acknowledge it. It was so arrogant.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he spat.

“I’m sorry, Harry-” He interrupted her with a slap.

“Stop calling me that! It’s demeaning!” he said, once again calm, but with a threatening undertone Lucy knew well.

“I-I don’t mean to demean you,” she said, voice shaking. Even as she spoke, she knew it was a terrible idea, but she needed to understand.

“Oh? Well what do you mean to do?” He stood up in his chair, the quick movement and angry expression a stark contrast to his soft, calm tone. Lucy didn’t answer. At this point, she knew anything she said would only land her in deeper trouble. “Calling me some weak human name. Or have you forgotten?  _Darling Harry_ isn’t some pathetic human.” His face was inches from hers at this point, and Lucy had to keep herself from shaking. He wouldn’t like that.

“Please, Harry-” She froze, catching her mistake immediately.

A dark look crossed his face. After a moment, he laughed. “Lucy… I really don’t know how I’m going to get through to you,” he said almost pleasantly. In a split second, the terrifying cheerfulness was gone, replaced with pure rage. “That is not my name!” he roared, gripping her shoulders and throwing her roughly to the ground. “What can I do to help you remember?!” He punctuated the sentences with a sharp kick to the ribs, as if that was what she needed to aid her memory.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked, desperately fighting the tears that were beginning to well up. Crying never helped anything.

“Get up,” he said flatly. She quickly obliged, ignoring the ache in her ribs. He put a hand on her shoulder, not gently, but certainly not in a way meant to bring her pain. “I’m sorry  _what_?” he asked, guiding her into a response. Lucy didn’t answer immediately, instead looking up at him with wide eyes, silently pleading just to drop it. “Lucy,” he said after a moment, using a soft tone that was simultaneously warning and patronizing.

“I’m sorry, Master,” she said almost inaudibly.

“Louder,” he ordered. “Like you  _mean_  it.”

“I’m sorry Master.” Her tone was firm this time. Though she hated what she was saying, she knew it was the only way he would be happy. If this is what he needed, this is what was going to happen.

He smiled and put a hand on her cheek. Though she flinched away from his hand, the touch was nothing but tender. “Good girl.” Without warning, the touch turned hostile and he hit her hard across the face. “Don’t let it happen again.” With that, he left the room.

She was never allowed to call him Harry again.


	10. Chapter 10

Any fight that had been left in Lucy was dead.  
She was no better than any of the servants anymore, she just dressed a bit nicer.  
Did he even notice how often she cried in her sleep? No, of course not. He had other things to worry about.  
Even if he noticed, she knew he didn’t care. After all, he was the reason she cried.


	11. Month Eleven

_I love you._

_  
_

How many times were those three little words tossed between them? Lucy watched him yelling at one of the maids, thinking carefully. He’d always been quick with a pet name or a kiss, but an actual “I love you” was rare. Had it always been, or just since things turned bad? Lucy thought carefully. There were days when it was difficult to remember a time before shouting and bruises. Recently, her mind had become alarmingly clear, causing her to do a lot of thinking. Though she knew she looked vacant, still waters run deep.

 

 _No,_ Lucy decided,  _we never said it much._  She always figured she didn’t need to and neither did he. It was assumed, no need to go through the formality of actually saying it.

 

Only now, it wasn’t. Did he love her? Who even knew anymore. She considered asking, but he was angry right now. Getting in between him and the unfortunate maid he was targeting his anger at would only end badly for her. Let him blow off steam now. She’d ask later, maybe. Probably not.

 

Oh, now the maid was crying… That wouldn’t end well for her. He hated tears. Lucy watched him closely, waiting to see what he did, studying him like a wild animal. He would probably hit the poor girl, if experience taught her anything.

 

Except he didn’t.

 

There was a bit more shouting, then he just stormed out of the room, muttering something about having better things to do than reprimand a stupid ape. Lucy watched him go trying to process what had happened. After another moment, she looked over at the maid, still sobbing her eyes out.

 

“Stop it,” she snapped. She was crying, and he hadn’t even hit her…

 

The maid, noticing Lucy for the first time, was startled enough to stop crying. Lucy smiled a bit. The power to stop someone’s tears, that was a good power. Not as powerful as the power to cause those tears, but she’d take whatever scraps of power fell to her. Power was a currency, a tangible thing. The only way to get more was to take it from someone else, and Lucy needed it as desperately as she needed air. Trouble was, whenever she managed to collect, he'd just take from her to add to his own dragon's den. “Crying only makes it worse. He doesn’t like weakness,” she said sharply. “Neither do I.” Of course, if words were all it took to make the maid cry like that, she was weak. Especially for what she’d been reprimanded for. Lucy wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but it was something stupid and avoidable. There was a strength in giving absolutely no reaction despite being broken inside and never letting anyone know how badly she hurt.

 

She looked over the maid, studying her like a bug under a microscope. “Why didn’t he hit you,” she muttered to herself. The maid probably though she was being cruel, when really, she should be thanking Lucy. Next time this happened, she’d know not to cry. Then again, it may never happen to that particular girl again. And for that, Lucy hated her.

  



	12. Month Twelve

Far too often, Lucy ended up lying on the floor, broken both inside and outside. This time, she just couldn’t bring herself to get up. She couldn’t even bring herself to move from the crumpled position he’d left her in. What was the point, anyway? She’d pick herself up and put up an image of being put back together, but he’d just shove her, fling her, throw her, hit her, or do something to shatter the illusion and put her back on the floor. Maybe if she just stayed there, he’d never bother her again. Just step around her and pretend she was an old rug or a pile of laundry. It would be a sorry existence, but no sorrier than she already was.

 

Lucy had fully made up her mind to never move and just live out the rest of her days as a glorified carpet when he came back into their room. He looked at her, puzzled, as if he had no idea how his wife had gotten to lying in a heap in the corner, as if he wasn’t the one that put her there. “You’re still there?” he asked, his voice a strange mix of confusion and amusement.

 

Instead of answering, she just looked up at him with sad doe eyes.

 

With a sigh, he made his way over to her and lifted her to her feet with a gentle hand. She wanted to protest, tell him she really would rather stay on the floor, but she just didn’t have the energy. He guided her into bed and held her close, a gesture that she still found loving, even after all this time. Long after he assumed she’d gone to sleep, Lucy was awake and thinking, contemplating her situation. She really did wish he’d left her on the floor. At least the floor was honest. Cold, hard, and unsympathetic, the floor would always make it hurt just a little bit more. However, it was consistent. Not like this cosy mattress, with it’s fortress of blankets and pillows. While it looked like a place where nothing could hurt you, she’d ended up in tears in here more than anywhere else on the ship, when the nightmares caught her at her most vulnerable. And the floor was certainly more honest than her terrifying, unpredictable husband. She loved him dearly, she knew that much, but did he love her? She wondered…

 

Something had to change. There had to be some way to get out.

 

Except, there wasn’t. He had taken over the entire planet. Aboard the Valiant, if she wasn’t his wife she was his maid. Or she’d just be dead. And down on earth… Certain death by Toclafane. Even if she could get to the surface, there was no way she’d survive. She was as trapped as any of the Master’s other prisoners, and it was only now that she began to notice. Still, she was in a unique situation as his wife. There had to be something she could do that no one else could to stop him and finally be free of him.

 

\--

 

They have Martha Jones. They have Martha Jones.

 

_They have Martha Jones._

_  
_

The Master went down to the walk the earth and  _came back with Martha Jones._

_  
_

Finally. Lucy was wondering how long she was going to evade capture and make an embarrassment of her husband. Maybe now that Martha Jones was going to die, he could be happy. Then maybe he’d kill the Doctor once and for all, get it over with. Then things could go back to normal. Everything had been fine until the Doctor showed up. Now maybe, just maybe, he would finally die and Lucy could fix everything. The Master could go back to being Harry, and they’d be in love again. It was the last bit of hope she had.

 

However, Martha wasn’t going quietly. Even as she kneeled before her Master, she refused to admit defeat. She laughed in his face. As much as she hated the Jones girl, Lucy couldn’t help but stiffen a bit at that. Before that, her death would’ve been quick. Now it certainly wouldn’t be, and Lucy would probably have to watch.

 

How could Martha have this much courage? After all she’d been through, how did she still have so much strength? How did she dare stand up to the Master? Lucy watched her, trying desperately to understand where this suicidal bravery came from. Maybe if she had a bit of that, she wouldn’t be the pathetic creature she was. Sure, it was going to get Martha killed, but Lucy was smarter than that. She’d know how to stand up for herself without mocking him.

 

But then, something changed. The Master looked completely at a loss for what to do, and it terrified Lucy. He always knew what to do.

 

It wasn’t until the Doctor began to change, the aging reversing with the world was chanting his name that she realized she could help. By helping the Doctor, she could help herself.

 

“I order you to stop!”

 

_No, Harry… You’re not my Master. I don’t have to listen, not this time._

_  
_

She didn’t like what she was doing. She didn’t want to betray him like this, she still loved him, but there really was no other way. She had to be free of him. Even with as much hatred as she harbored for the Doctor, she knew he was her one chance at heating out. So she said his name with the rest of the world, as a desperate, but apologetic plea.

 

So she just watched as his shock and anger turned to fear, as he backed away in terror while the Doctor floated after him. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing him cower like that. Was the Doctor going to kill him? Yes, he had to. It was the only way.

 

Instead, he forgave him.

 

Three little words, “I forgive you,” but they felt like a punch to the stomach to Lucy. What the Doctor was doing, and she wasn’t sure whether or not he realized this, was forgiving for everyone. He had no right. Lucy loved him, yes, but she didn’t forgive him. The majority of the people in this room probably didn’t forgive him. But somehow, the Doctor thought he was allowed to give him the forgiveness he hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve.

 

And then, he disappeared along with the Doctor. Lucy knew exactly where they went, the Master had bragged about his Black Hole Converter for days. The Doctor hadn’t killed him, and now he was going to destroy the world.

 

Well, it seemed the pair of Time Lords were just  _full_  of surprises today. Instead of destroying the world, time reversed itself, and they were back to a time when she never doubted whether or not Harry loved her, and she was never forced to call him Master. Except she still remembered. Thank god. She could never forget, not without losing an important part of herself. Seemed there was an advantage to living at the eye of the storm.

 

She was still trapped though, she knew that now. The Doctor wasn’t going to let the only other Time Lord die, but Lucy could never be free as long as he was alive. Even if he didn’t know it (and he probably didn’t), he’d have her on an invisible string. She would never stop wondering about him, if he’d come looking for her. If he did, he was sure to find it, and would it be to beat her or kiss her⎯ or both? It wasn’t like the Master would enjoy the rest of his days any more than she would, though. He’d be nothing but a pet. Certainly, that was more demeaning than being called by a human name.

 

And then, she saw something beautiful. An escape. A way for them both to be free. He would be free of the Doctor, she would be free of him. An escape in the form of the gun Francine Jones had thrown to the ground. In all the activity, no one noticed Lucy quietly make her way to the weapon and pick it up.

 

She loved the way it felt in her hands. Right now, this gun was so much more than just a gun. It was freedom, hope, and most importantly, it was power. The power to take her husband’s life, and take her own back from him.

 

_I love you, Harry._

_  
_

Before she even had time to think, Lucy aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

 

_Till death do us part._

_  
_

 


End file.
